


Compasses

by xvoided



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Derek, Sad Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:59:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xvoided/pseuds/xvoided
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles sometimes can't take the pressure that is on his shoulders, the constant misread perception of blood staining his pale, boney fingertips, and the panicky feeling that everything is falling apart; so Derek is there to pick up those broken pieces as best as he can, and maybe even provide coffee and a warm bed on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compasses

**Author's Note:**

> purely dedicated to the fact that i profoundly miss derek hale and he should be here... i have a little favour that i would appreciate immensely and that is if YOU WOULDNT MIND, just keeping the idea of would this be a good ongoing story, or its better just to keep it here as a one shot until the end and maybe, maaaaybe you could just leave a lil note telling me yes or no.   
> love u 
> 
> also i don't know if the italicization of words worked or not but I'm praying it did (:

The floor was quiet, Derek thought. It was especially quiet for a place known to be as busy as Beacon Hills Memorial. Derek wasn’t entirely used to it - it was a sort of an  _ uncomforting _ amount of dread and distress he ran away from in the first place. Well,  _ besides _ the fact that he was  _ in a hospital _ \- a legitimate beacon for dread and distress. When he got to it, the door to the Sheriff’s room was open, a dim light being the only thing lighting up anything. Derek looked past the bed where the Sheriff slept - a slightly horrifying sight he didn’t really prepare himself for - to Stiles, the opposed, stubborn teenager every pack member was on the brink of giving up with; excluding Scott and Melissa. Derek didn’t think Scott would ever give up on Stiles, not to any extent - Stiles had put that to the test profoundly - and Melissa? It was her entire occupation to not give up and she was a hell of a lot better at it than Derek ever was. 

 

He made his way over to Stiles, shaking the kid’s shoulder in an attempt at waking him. “Stiles,” Derek says, “Stiles, wake up,” he whispers sharply, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. “Stiles.” Stiles’ eyes spring open in a split second of panic, his heartbeat spiking, throbbing through Derek’s ear drums. Stiles’ eyes meet with Derek’s, the soft hazel colour flashing dark before darting around the room.

 

“W-Where’s my dad? Is he ‘kay, wha’ happened? What happened?” Stiles panics, moving his head around and trying to shove out of Derek’s grip.

 

“He’s fine, Stiles. Relax, okay?” Stiles lets out a long breath and sinks back into the arm chair, pulling a hand down his face and through his hair. He was enervated, Derek could blatantly see that, and he wasn’t going to try and push Stiles to answer the million question he had. 

 

“Are you okay?” Derek asks after a moment of silence, allowing Stiles to compose himself before answering his question. Stiles shakes his head, which fully takes Derek by surprise. The Stiles Derek knew was the one to push away his feelings until there was absolutely no where else to push them and from there attempted to ignore them until they eventually just went away - the Stiles that was casted in front of Derek was not the Stiles he had grown to put up with, this Stiles was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Derek’s facial expression softens, nodding his head attentively. “That’s understandable, Stiles.” 

 

“I haven’t even ‘aid anything, how can anything I’ve done, or-or anything that has ‘appened, possibly be understandable?” He says through hitched breaths, aggressively wiping a hand under his nose. 

 

“You’re right.” Derek says quietly, “I can’t fully understand what has happened. I’m here to listen if you want to tell me.” Stiles quickly shakes his head, subtle enough that Derek would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been keeping a close eye on every movement he made. 

 

“But only if you want to.” He continues, “I know who you are. I know you don’t run away when things get difficult.” Stiles swallows and rubs his eyes with his arm, Derek getting the indicator that Stiles didn’t want the man to see him cry. 

 

Derek somehow convinces Stiles to leave his dad for the night and the shivering, weak teen follows along-side Derek to the parking lot without a single word. It was an anxious, tense type of silence that was so diverse from Stiles’ normal buzzing personality, but was suitably congruous with the surrounding atmosphere. While in the car, Derek takes an extra measure in making sure the heat is on the highest it could possibly be, expecting protest that never came. Merely four minutes into the drive, Stiles breaks down completely, sobbing with shaking shoulders and taking dangerously shallow breaths.

 

“I-I ‘ave no one to stay with, I d-don’t want-I can’t stay by myself.” Stiles sobs, holding his head in his hands. 

 

“It’s okay, Stiles, that’s absolutely fine. You can’t think of anyone you want to stay with?” Stiles instantly shakes his head, substantially worrying Derek. “Okay,” Derek says, realizing just then how much Stiles needed someone to support him at the moment and leaving him by himself for the most part would be destructive and inevitably, wasn’t going to happen. Derek didn’t offer the loft out loud to Stiles, owing to the fact that he didn’t want him to reject the option. Stiles’ sobs eventually calmed to hiccuped breaths, his arms tightly wrapped around his torso like he was caving in on himself. Both Derek and Stiles stayed quiet for the majority of the trip, Derek throwing concerned glances in Stiles’ general direction until they reached the loft. Stiles didn’t protest or ask questions, he simply just followed Derek to the room, not making a single sound. When they walked through the door and Derek closed it behind Stiles, it was like a switch turned off in his brain and he was dumbfounded - gazing around the room like he didn’t know where he was.  

 

“Stiles,” Derek says, not intending his voice to be filled with as much concern as it did. “Sit down and I’ll get you some water and clothes and stuff, okay?” Stiles still has his arms tightly wrapped around his torso, as if he’s having a hard time keeping himself together. 

 

Stiles hesitates, glancing around the room dully before nodding and steadily making his way to the couch. Derek watches him for a moment before disappearing down the hall where his bedroom is to pick out some smaller sized sweatpants and an old t-shirt. When he comes back, Stiles is silent on the couch, his head bowed to look at the shaking hands in his lap. 

 

“Hey,” Derek says, putting the folded clothes on the coffee table before leaving momentarily to get a glass of water and handing it to Stiles. Stiles reacts slowly to his surroundings, holding the water glass in his palms only to stare at it, Derek asked him questions that were either answered with small shrugs or plainly just left unanswered. There was silence between them, not necessarily being  _ uncomfortable _ \- it was just  _ there _ . 

 

“I’ll go get dressed.” Stiles says after what feels like hours of completely silence, placing the water glass that’s half full on the coffee table and picking up the folded clothes in front of him. Derek nods and bows his head, Stiles’ scent moving around him. He listens to Stiles pad down the hall and close the bathroom door behind him, leaving Derek wondering what to do next. There’s always a ‘next’ and Derek finds himself aimlessly worrying about the ‘next’. 

 

Derek putzes around for as long as can bear before he’s positive he’s going to break something in anticipation. He tried for as long as he could to just ignore the passage of time, assuming that Stiles was probably searching endlessly for a spare toothbrush or taken a shower, but an hour? Even if Derek  _ tried _ , like really endeavored, he couldn’t take a shower for that long. He finds himself locating Stiles’ heartbeat, listening to the slow and steady beats that last for a moment before they increases too much to be normal. The loud, inconsistent beats setting Derek’s instinct on edge. He’s running towards the door before him brain has time to think of anything else, mindlessly yelling out Stiles’ name. He can hear Stiles sob from behind the door, them coming out erratic and panicked, one of the most painful noises Derek has ever heard Stiles make.

 

“Stiles? Stiles, I’m coming in, okay?” Derek says frantically, but doesn’t wait for a reply, he had no intention to. He didn’t really know what he expected to see, but he definitely didn’t expect to see Stiles curled up on the shower floor, fully clothed, rocking back and forth and aggressively rubbing his hands together as if he’s trying to clean them.

 

“It-it’s not coming off, it’s not comin’ off,” Stiles mumbles softly - barely audible. Derek rushes toward the shower, fumbling with the dial until the freezing cold water cuts off. 

 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, not knowing how to react, not being able to put his concern into words.

 

“It-it’s n-not comin’ off, D’rek, Derek it’s-” 

 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Derek hushes, grabbing a towel from the rack behind him and wrapping it around Stiles’ shoulders. He leans awkwardly over the tub, trying his best to keep Stiles warm, the blue tinting his lips and the sound of clattering teeth being deeply concerning. 

 

“I-It’s, it’s still here, I c-can’t get it off.” He panics, and Derek reaches forwards and holds Stiles’ hands in his own, forcing him not to look at them anymore. 

 

“They’re clean, Stiles, they’re clean, you’re alright.” Stiles instantly shakes his head, pressing his forehead to his knees. “What’s on them? What’s on your hands?” 

 

“Donovan, A-Allison…” He starts, barely being coherent over his hiccuped breaths. Derek finally catches on and shakes his head, pulling Stiles into a fiercely protective hug. 

 

“Don’t look at them, don’t look at your hands, Stiles.” Derek reaches for the shower dial and turns the water to hot. He didn’t really know what else to do at this point, he just knew he wanted Stiles to be okay; he wanted him to stop hurting as much as he was at this very moment. 

 

Eventually, Stiles calms down enough for Derek to be able to touch him without a violent reaction, and lifts him out of the tub. He gets him dressed and asks him a couple of questions. He tries his best to make small talk. Derek finds himself just wanting to hear Stiles’ voice again, as if it was a indicator that he was going to be okay. 

 

“Can you stand?” Derek asks softly, his voice hung low as if he had been talking to someone who had just woken up from sleep. He grips Stiles’ arms protectively as he pushes himself up from the sink counter. Stiles nods and makes a small noise in the back of his throat before looking up at Derek. He looked scared, he looked like a small kid who didn’t understand what was going on. Derek wanted to tell him it was okay, but he also didn’t want to confuse the boy any further than he already was. He ushers Stiles into bed, dismissing his incoherent concerns about random, irrelevant shit. 

 

He leaves the door open and a dull lamp on, not knowing what to do, not knowing who to call or how to act. Derek hadn’t seen Stiles hit the ice that hard since his discreet, but very prominent breakdown at the hospital the night Allison died, and frankly, this time was much worse. He remembers Stiles sitting in the passenger seat beside him, his mind chaotically trying to piece together what was going on inside the kid’s head, he remembers how Stiles wouldn’t answer any of the questions his dad or Melissa had quietly whispered to him - he either just violently shook his head or stared down at his hands. He remembers contemplating if he was given a gift of wolf-hearing or a burden when he heard Stiles fully collapse in front of his dad in a secluded hospital room, and Derek still wonders if that’s the reason Scott had never mourned in front of his best friend - that he had heard it too. 

 

Derek was in the room - turning off the lamp since the light was coming in from the window - when Stiles wakes up. He rolls over in the bed and groans at the sunlight, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. 

 

“Hey,” Derek says. “I made coffee.” Stiles nods and pulls a hand down his face. 

 

“Did you know,” Stiles starts, yawning mid sentence before sitting up in the bed, his hair sticking up in a way that reminds Derek of the nogitsune crisis. “That coffee was discovered through an accidental experiment tested on goats?” Derek putzes around for a few moments before answering, picking up random objects and putting them in new places to busy himself for not any reason except for the fact that he wants to look as if he’s been doing other things aside from watching over the teen. 

 

“So, is that a yes, or no to coffee?” Derek asks, turning to face Stiles who is still sitting under a heap of covers. 

 

“Oh, it’s a unquestionable yes. Goats or no goats.” Stiles says and looks around the room, distracted from what he was saying. “Did you not sleep?” Stiles asks, meeting eyes with Derek and crossing his eyebrows.

 

“I slept on the couch.” Derek lies and Stiles shrugs, picking at the hem of the duvet covering his legs.

 

“I could’ve definitely slept on the couch… It’s actually not totally scientifically proven that sleeping on a mattress compared to sleeping on cushions has any controversy over which allows you to have a better sleep aside from the fact that sleeping on the couch dis-aligns your spine, which is kinda ironic in a way because couches are usually comfier to sleep on but because of that it’s bad because your spine could be totally fu-” Stiles blathers, reminding Derek of the Stiles Stilinski he left here in Beacon Hills.

 

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts.

“Yes.”

 

“It’s fine.” Derek says, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Is it though because-” Stiles pats the duvet burying him, “-this is the utmost comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in and furthermore, my spine is safe from dis-alignment.”

 

“I have the ability to heal.” At which Stiles snaps his fingers and points at Derek momentarily before nodding and kicking the covers back with his feet. 

 

“Touche.” He says, getting out of the bed and for a moment, looks around on the floor before helplessly looking up to Derek.

 

“Where’s my sweater I was wearing last night?” Stiles asks and that’s when Derek notices how thin he looks - it’s almost sickly. Fact, nothing about the teen looks anything even remotely healthy and it worries Derek in a protective way. Stiles had always been pale and thin - it wasn’t anything Derek hadn’t already seen - but this version of Stiles that was cast in front of him looked brutalized, in every sense of the word.

 

“It’s probably in the dryer.” Derek replies, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. Stiles brings his thumb up to his teeth and bites the side of his nail before making a noise in the back of his throat that strangely lets Derek know the conversation is over. 

 

Derek leads Stiles into the kitchen and slides a mug of coffee across the counter which Stiles takes in both his hands and unremittingly drinks greedily. 

  
“Goats? Really?” Derek asks and Stiles laughs, choking on his coffee. 

**Author's Note:**

> NDHMFEOWMD i love the idea of this story. just derek hale, being derek hale. i miss him dearly. 
> 
> BUT THATS IT. THAT IS ALL I HAVE.   
> THERE COULD, POSSIBLY BE MORE THOUGH - yes... or no? you tell me the fate of this story rests at your fingertips.
> 
> may the sterek be with you all


End file.
